


Thieves

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Little Talks [13]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Family Drama, Gen, One Shot, POV Sara Lance, Post Episode: s02e13 Heir to the Demon, Prompt Fill, Siblings, sibling angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:  "You stole that from me."<br/>The things that are easiest to steal have no value.</p><p>Reading in the order of "The Way We Talk" series is highly recommended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still just not sure what to say about this one. It's probably not going to be all that popular, but I think this needed to happen on the show, and that it's cruel that the writers stole this from us. I'm not saying I'm that capable, but something needed to have happened here. I'll let you see what you think, though.

Even after all that transpired between them, Sara finds herself again across the rooftop from Laurel's apartment, keeping watch over the sister that supposedly hates her.  Through the windows, she sees the tears—and worse, the alcohol.  Laurel, as is her wont now, falls upon her crutch because of the hatred deep inside her—hatred for her own  _sister_.

Not that Sara can blame her; there have been many days— _so_  many days—where she's hated herself, too.  She hates how she ruined the relationship Laurel and Oliver had, she hates that she couldn't bear to show her face in Starling again, but, most of all, she hates how naïve she was to think that all would magically be forgiven because she showed up at Laurel's door, alive.

Laurel told her to get out, sure.  But Sara doesn't think that's an option for her any longer.

Not a few minutes later, Sara is at her sister's door again.  She could probably just break through a window, sneak in undetected, but—despite what Laurel may think—Sara respects her more than that.  She rings the doorbell hesitantly, wishing she was simply heading to Oliver's lair again.  It's so much simpler for her to be the Black Canary, to stop killers and criminals—all the while being one herself.  But she isn't, she reminds herself.  She has something far more important to do first.

Sara knows the moment Laurel goes to the door, knows the moment she looks through the peephole to see her visitor.  She can almost taste the rage, hatred, and anguish from the other side.

Before the island, before Sara's so-called "death," the two had a ritual for fights.  Sara would say something hurtful, Laurel would yell and throw things, and then,  _finally_ , Sara would come back and beg for her sister's forgiveness.  Only then would the two be at peace—for however long it lasted, usually not long at all.

Once upon a time, but no longer.  What Sara told Oliver was the truth:  she had died on that island.  The Sara Lance daring to knock on her sister's door no longer grovels, no longer pleads.  Sara Lance no longer begs because her dignity—what little of it isn't already in tatters—is the only thing she has left. After so long just attempting to survive, all else has fallen away.  So she will  _not_  beg Laurel to open the door, to talk to her, to forgive her.

But, somehow, the door still swings open, and for the first time, Sara is not groveling on the other side.

But the door opening is half the battle.  The sister before Sara has puffy eyes and tear stains on her blouse.  She has two empty bottles of chardonnay sitting on the coffee table, and another, half full, sitting next to them, keeping company with an empty wine glass.  "What do  _you_  want?" Laurel asks Sara with narrowed eyes and slurring speech.

Though Sara doesn't think it's the answer Laurel is looking for, she still answers honestly.  "To talk to my sister for the first time in forever.  To remember that I'm not a ghost and that I have a family.  To right even one of the many mistakes I've made."

Laurel scoffs haughtily.  "Well, you're too late for that, Sara," she says coldly, and it hurts, even though Sara knows it's just the alcohol talking.  "Six years ago, I was in love with Oliver Queen."  Sara's not sure Laurel even notices the Freudian use of the past tense.  "Six years ago, I was going to move in with him.  We were going to get engaged, to have a family, to live our lives together."  She's quiet for a moment before adding heatedly, "You  _stole_  that from me."

Before Sara can think of what to say, the door is closed again, slamming against the frame.  She sighs deeply, scrubbing furiously at the tear that has fallen away without her permission.  She stands there a moment, surprised by the power of her own emotions, her own feeling of betrayal, shame, and that ever present guilt.  And then she simply walks away, as if she was never there.

She'll try again tomorrow, she decides, once Laurel is sober again.

Because Sara has had many things taken from her in the past, and she'll be damned if she'll allow Laurel to steal what little remains of their once-happy family.


End file.
